When Tiberius turned 18, he entered the political arena, as befitted his status as a son of a chieftain, although he had little taste for the corruption inherent in the all systems of that nature. Korgis had stepped down some years previous, but his oldest brother, Kalgan, won the right to succession, and the Koln dynasty continued; the First Blood clan still ruled Mars. At 21, TK was eligible to challenge for the top position, but he did not want to dethrone his brother. By doing so, he would have to kill or force him to submit. Kalgan would never submit, and Tiberius was satisfied with hyper cycle racing and his other courtly duties. Marianna counseled her son to wait. It was no use to cause fissures within the family and the First Blood clan. In the 5th year of Kalgan’s reign, the new leader was found dead, stabbed in the back with a miner’s blade. It was then that Tiberius, angered by the cowardly way Kalgan was murdered, chose to throw his colors into the arena for succession, and vowed he would find, and bring, his brother’s killer to justice. First, however, he would have to defeat sixteen other pretenders to the throne. Marianna helped by talking to women from other clans and gloaming information on the other contenders; calculating their strengths and weaknesses, and passing the data to Tiberius. Because Kalgan’s death was sudden and a new leadership was essential, the gladiatorial arena was prepared and the combat-contests began within a week. TK, though still boiling with rage at his brother’s unjust demise, kept a cool, focused head. Fighting angry was a sure path to fatal end, as his father always advised.
On the first day of mortal combat, Tiberius demonstrated his deadly talent for taking life, as he waded through the first four opponents. After each victory, he shouted the same words at the crowds gathered for the spectacle.
“When I am finished here, the coward that murdered my brother will step forward and be judged. If the person responsible does not do this honorable thing, I will give his entire family to the scorps beneath our feet when I find the bastard!”
No one doubted the truth of his decree or that he would not rest until justice was served. The second day, Tiberius dispatched four more men, becoming increasingly brutal with each kill, imagining that each of his conquests were his brother’s killer. On the third day of arena fighting, two men submitted after witnessing TK rip the head off the first contender. The fourth simply asked for a quick death and only put up a weak fight that lasted 20 seconds, and ended with a loud snap as his neck broke between the cooly furious Koln’s hands.
The last day of the fights found Tiberius with only a few shallow lacerations and bruises. His skill was unparalleled and no one could remember such one sided victories in Mars’ history. Contenders one, two, and three fell to TK’s blazing speed and focused strikes in a matter of minutes. He was on a mission, a force that could not be denied, a burning sun, scorching everything he touched. Then the contender from the Cyclone clan stepped onto the gritty red sand of the arena. Jaggon the Jackal, as he was commonly referred to, stood seven feet tall and appeared to be solid muscle. He was fast for his immense size. Tiberius had never met the man in person, but all knew about his exploits in the sparring arena ,where many young Bloods trained to hone their fighting skills. Jaggon’s eyes burned with fury, as he spat on the ground at the feet of his opponent and held up his hand to signal he had something to say. His voice boomed out and echoed around the arena.
“The First Blood clansman makes pretty speeches after his victories. What will he say as he dies by my hand as did his brother? Yes, I killed the slime. He was not fit to rule. Had I been of age when the right to succession last occurred, I would be your chieftain and the Cyclone clan would rule all clans. Now I am of age, and I will conquer this puny First Blood scum, and you will witness true power.”
If Jaggon was victorious, not only would he be safe from prosecution for murder, but his family would be safe as well. Bile rose in Tiberius’ throat, as rage consumed him. He too spat at the feet of Jaggon, and would have rushed headlong into disaster if it were not for Marianna. She caught his eye and calmed TK with a knowing glance that said what needed to be said, “You are the Master, you will rule with an even, tempered hand, and you shall defeat the Jackal by your fine tuned intellect.”
Centered once again, Tiberius held up his hand and spoke thusly: ”When I kill you, Jaggon, your cowardly death will mean naught to those bearing witness. I will kill your family as well, you big, scorp sucking piece of dung, for they did not come forward and expose your treachery as real Bloods would do, and do not deserve the pardons of the First Blood clan. Now stop whining like a little girl and ready yourself for the last minutes of your miserable life.”
With that said, Tiberius turned his back on Jaggon, the ultimate sign of disrespect behind spitting at one’s feet, and strode to the far side of the arena to take his place. The move was calculated and it worked. Instead of going to his own starting circle, the behemoth charged at what he believed to be a helpless man. This was cheating, but who would dare to oppose Jaggon, especially if he won? TK could easily hear the approaching footsteps as Jaggon gained speed. Timing was tantamount if this ruse was going to work. When he heard Jaggon leave the sandy soil to leap on his back, Tiberius turned halfway and sank to one knee. Jaggon’s massive arms closed on nothing but the thin air. Momentum unabated, Jaggon felt, more than saw, TK slightly bump his hip into Jaggon’s own in a move reminiscent of a judo throw, which lifted the seven foot wall of muscle off the ground. Airborne, Jaggon could not stop his bulk from smacking into the wall of the arena headfirst with a dull but audible thud. He crumpled; dazed but conscious.
Tiberius’ plan had been to enrage Jaggon and then to capitalize on the Jackal’s sloppy mistakes. He would weaken the monolith of a man by degrees. TK silently thanked his mother for her wisdom and guidance, as he had very nearly snapped and lost control himself through his own anger. Jaggon rose from his crouched position, a four inch gash opening on his bald skull. Blood flowed freely down his face, covering his nose and chin. Jaggon’s beady black eyes shone with burning anger and pain, and TK could see that he was still dazed. He goaded Jaggon on with remarks about intelligence and being clumsy as he gazed, unblinking into eyes filled with a lifetime of hatred..
“That, my stupid friend,” Tiberius shouted to the crowd, “was lesson one. A moron such as you will not learn a damned thing though. Are you afraid you’ll trip and land on that ugly face again? C’mon big boy! Your family is depending on you not to fuck up.”
Jaggon tried stalking Tiberius, but his legs were unsteady. Getting closer and closer to TK, he thought he could grab the smaller man and crush the life out of his body. The tactic was transparent. TK let Jaggon get within arms length and launched his own attack. Stepping inside the tree-trunk arms, Koln landed a vicious uppercut, splitting Jaggon’s chin and snapping his bleeding head back. TK immediately dropped and twisted, swinging a leg out to sweep the huge man’s legs out from under him. Jaggon landed hard on his back and TK was on him, his right hand locked on the giant man’s throat.
“Submit,” growled Tiberius.
“Never,” answered Jaggon, though it was somewhat garbled.
Suddenly, survival instinct kicked in, and Jaggon shot his arms out. The amazing strength of the strike knocked TK off and he landed next to his foe. Quickly, he spun away from Jaggon and back to his feet. Ignoring the pains shooting through his chest, Koln continued. “That was lesson two, my idiotic friend. Submit now, and I will spare your family.”
Jaggon slowly rose, rubbed his neck where purple bruising was already beginning to appear, and shook his head in the negative. Tiberius did not hesitate and stepped in to land a side kick into Jaggon’s exposed gut. The kick, which would have felled a smaller person, only made him double over. ‘By Jupiter’ thought TK, ‘this bastard is tough’. To punctuate his musing, Jaggon straightened, a sick smile sliding across his blood drenched face. Pain laced through each side of Koln’s torso and he knew Jaggon had cracked ribs on both left and right. He fought to ignore it. ‘Mind over matter. If I don’t m
ind, it don’t matter.’ The next clash would be the last for one of the combatants, but Jaggon didn’t seem to notice he’d injured Tiberius. Koln hoped that were true.
The men circled each other, cautiously now, a feint here, a juke there. Koln’s face remained impassive as he buried the lightning strikes streaking through his chest while Jaggon bled from his bare pate and foamed at the mouth.
“Call yourself a Blood, Jaggon? You’re no more than a Venutian fairy. And Mars isn’t a place for Venutian girls like yourself,” Koln taunted.
“I’ll kill your worthless ass, First Blood,” Jaggon spat back through blood spattered lips.
“Well, come on and get some boy. Or are you scared of a young blood like me?”
Jaggon charged; he couldn’t help himself, taking the bait dangled before his face. He came in low this time to avoid learning the first lesson twice. TK expected it, had hoped he would charge this way, and was ready for his lumbering opponent. Just before contact, Koln slipped to the side, wincing in agony as he hooked a swinging limb and applied an arm-bar, forcing Jaggon’s head down further, and then twisting. TK brought his other arm under his enemy’s chin and yanked backward and up in an arcing motion, a clothesline maneuver. Jaggon’s legs kept trying to run, but his upper body seemed suspended five feet off the ground. Martian gravity took care of the rest. He landed squarely on his butt with a spine thudding whump. When the dust cleared, Tiberius was kneeling behind Jaggon with a sleeper choke locked on the Jackal’s already tender throat. Scissored in the “V” of one arm, that cut off blood to his enemy’s brain by squeezing the giant’s carotid artery and jugular vein, TK kept him in place by putting pressure on his other artery that ran diagonally across the back of Jaggon’s head. Forcing him down, Tiberius Koln hunched forward and gave a mighty, banshee like wail of pain and triumph as he broke Jaggon’s neck. The next supreme chieftain of the clans and ruler of the Blood Empire had been elected.
Chapter 7
Tiberius married his first wife a year later, at the urging of his mother, Marianna. A chieftain was expected to take multiple wives and produce offspring to continue the bloodline of what was considered the best seed; the leader of all the clans even more so. The second, third, and fourth wives joined his family in the next two years. Each woman, chosen more for breeding capability and ranking in the Martian community, fulfilled her duty by giving TK children, a son and daughter by wife one, two sons by wife two, two daughters by wife three, and three sons by wife four. Koln admired and cared for his women, but it was more out of responsibility to the Blood Empire than anything else. Listening to their advice and insight, which was invaluable, and enjoying a steady supply of sex, kept him aware and satisfied. Or so he thought. He had never felt anything akin to love, except concerning his mother, but that was a different kind of emotion, less about intense feelings and kindred spirit, more about devotion and obligation. Real, true love escaped his hardened heart. He had a planet to run. Despite Tiberius’ ambivalence toward his wives, their relationships were sound, and the family prospered.
Tiberius had inherited some wealth from his father, Korgis, but had amassed a fortune due to the demand for his seed on Earth. The Haute Societe courted and curried favor with him, as he was wanted by all wealthy Terran families. The Debutantes he deflowered bore the healthiest, finest children, and the Debs practically threw themselves at his feet, as they were trained to do from an early age. The Debs, were beautiful, just as his wives were, but made no lasting impression on the great and popular leader. Find em’, fuck em’, and forget em’ was his mantra regarding Terran females. He did admit to himself that he enjoyed the trips to Earth and participating in the sanctioned debauchery. If a man took a woman against her will on Mars, he was executed. On Earth, the Debs were willing but naïve as to what some Bloods would do to them or make them do. The Debs knew, but also didn’t know. They romanticized their Martian allies; only afterward appreciating the rough handling they endured at the Blood’s hands.
The time to travel to Earth was fast approaching: it would be TK’s 5th trip to inseminate the Terran Debutantes, and bask in their wanton admiration. Trained to seduce the Martians, the Debs were always a fun time. Koln looked forward to getting off Mars for a short while and partying like a rock star with the tender, young Earth babes, without having to worry about the daily grind of running the Blood Empire.
Chapter 8
Saffron Mountbatten, daughter of the fabulously wealthy Stanford Beauxtonus Mountbatten, was born into privilege. To say that she was raised with a silver spoon in her mouth would be an understatement. But there were drawbacks as well. When one was born into the elite classes of Earth, power and credits (money) were the standard of excellence, and were intertwined and synonymous. The rich lived in fenced and gated mansions, five times or more the size of what was needed, on rolling estates with artificial guards who never slept. Human servants; maids, butlers, valets, and the like took care of the wealthy’s wants and needs. Robotic units, known simply as careware, took care of everything else, from transportation to security. The unwashed masses, or common people, served their masters and fulfilled their every wish, except one. Saffron was born into a world that could not reproduce of its own volition.
Years before, it had been discovered that the human race was on the brink of extinction by its own hand. The Terrans reached out to the Mars Penal Colony, now called the Blood Empire, to help the human species survive and revive. The Mars men were abundantly fertile, where the males of Earth were hopelessly barren. For some reason, the women were untouched by the scourge that rendered men useless regarding reproduction. The why had become unimportant long ago: it was a fact that could not be changed, as scientists realized after many attempts to change the catastrophic consequences of human folly.
Saffron, the product of her biological mother --a famous Deb herself from the previous generation -- and an unknown Alpha Blood, from the red planet, was the cream of the elite class. Expectations were high from the first moment she entered the world screaming with righteous indignation. Her mother often remarked to friends, “I am just surprised that dear Saffron did not smack the birthing doctor. The nanny tells me she had such a set of lungs! She is of Asian extract, an amah, you know, and of course they make the best caregivers.”
Saffron Mountbatten was born into luxury, but as a female at the top of the elite class, she was predestined to be one of the Fabulous Five Hundred, a Debutante of the highest degree, and one of the saviors of Earth. Her childhood, up until the age of 10, was one of splendor and and extreme pampering. Every whim and desire were indulged by her parents, and carried out by the plethora of servants and carewares. She was shielded from the outside world, knowing nothing of the daily strife and conflict experienced by the socioeconomically disadvantaged masses who were trying to survive on Terra’s meager resources. The Mountbatten estate was her personal world, until at age 10, that began to change. Saffron was enrolled in, and signed up for the List. Five hundred Debutantes, 100 from each of the nations, were chosen to participate in the Haute Societe Ball held approximately every 22-23 months. Many referred to the event as “stepping out into society”. It meant everything to the desperate Terran’s.
Saffron’s 10th birthday, a lavish affair, attended by the prominent and powerful, and of course the children of these elite bunch, was thrown in Saffron’s honor for making the list. The party was full of childish giggling and play; encouraged by the adults, as this would be the last day of childhood. Her training was to begin, and Francois Biscayne was the man who turned up for the job as Deb tutor. Francois, at four feet, seven inches tall, matched his protégé-to-be, Saffron, in height. The jet black hair combed straight back and parted precisely in the middle, and spectacles perched on a hawkish nose only made his head look bigger and rounder. He wore an immaculately tailored black tuxedo without a wrinkle to be seen, creased in all the right places, and glossy black penny loafers. A black and red (the only color he allowed himself) bowtie, fastened at h
is throat, bobbed up and down with his adam’s apple when he spoke, in his crisp, concise, albeit high pitched voice. The white silk blouse tucked snugly into his trousers contrasted with the black kangaroo skin belt and satin cummerbund which completed his ensemble. The “uniform” never varied, ever.
Upon meeting her new tutor, Saffron curtsied, keeping her eyes to the ground as taught, and then burst into a fit of giggles when she looked up at Biscayne.
“So pleased to make your acquai-,” and the laughter started. Saffron could not help her 10 year old self at the sight of this ridiculous person looking quizzically at her through magnified, green eyes. His small stature, black and white suit, and slight paunch made the strange person look like the penguins she’d seen on the programs about extinct Terran animals on the V-screen. Saffron wondered if he could dart around the pool like on the videos. The man’s clean shaven face kind of spoiled the effect, but WOW, he was funny looking!
Father chastised his daughter but to no avail: the childish giggles could not be denied.
“I see I will have my work cut out for me here,” Francois stated without malice or offense taken. This was not the first time he’d been greeted by laughter by his pre-pubescent charges. “However,” he continued,”this frivolity must cease if I am to be of service, Monsieur Mountbatten.”
Clean Regency Romance: The Earl's Temptation (The Pure Heart Triumphs Series Book 1) Page 13
